Chapter 1

Conor McCullough managed to escape from the basement. When he reached the entrance, he saw Kendra Sterling and his father carefully helping Damon McCullough into a car, fussing over him as they comforted him.

They drove away without sparing Conor a single glance. Not one of them cared about him.

Everyone assumed Conor would go berserk and make a scene.

Instead, the man who had once been known for his headstrong and willful ways—husband of Kendra and the young heir of the McCullough family—changed overnight. He gave up every bad habit they had complained about and became exactly what they wanted: Kendra's obedient husband and the McCullough family's well-behaved son.

He didn't smash Kendra's car and demand to know why she hadn't answered his calls on the first day of his kidnapping. He didn't chase her to work, crying and making a scene until she gave him an explanation. He stopped asking about her private life. Even when rumors about her affairs reached his ears, he simply turned a deaf ear.

He became obedient, well-behaved, and considerate, just as they had wanted.

Even when Damon falsely accused him of stealing and pushed him from the second floor of the McCullough mansion, breaking his right hand, Conor didn't make a fuss.

Whitney Alfaro, who had watched him grow up, suggested contacting Kendra.

Conor simply shook his head. "It's only one broken hand. There's no need to bother her. I can get to the hospital myself."

Under Whitney's hesitant gaze, he called a car and went to the hospital alone. From beginning to end, he had no intention of contacting Kendra.

Yet, at the hospital entrance, he ran into her.

She wore an elegant floor-length dress. Tall and slender, she stood with impeccable posture, her cool, aristocratic air keeping everyone at a distance.

Her gaze fell on his twisted hand, and her brows drew together slightly.

"What happened to your hand? Why did you come to the hospital alone when you're injured? Why didn't you call me?"

There wasn't a flicker of emotion in Conor's eyes as he replied calmly, "I've never been able to get through when I call you."

During their three years of marriage, the number of times Kendra had actually answered his calls could be counted on one hand. Whether he had a dangerously high fever or was being rushed into emergency surgery after a car accident, he had never been able to reach her when it mattered most.

The only person who could always get through to her was the man she had never gotten over—his older half-brother, Damon.

Conor and Kendra had married through an arrangement between their families. At first, Conor, who had always valued his freedom, had refused. It was Kendra who had approached him.

She had taken responsibility for his mistakes, cleaned up his messes, and helped him escape the suffocating confines of the McCullough family.

Eventually, they married.

Over their three years together, through their countless intimate encounters, Conor had gradually fallen for her.

He had believed that this woman, whom everyone treated like a goddess, belonged to him. That she was his alone.

But a year ago, he found a photograph in her study. The man in it looked remarkably like him. Their features were at least seventy percent alike.

Conor had confronted Kendra, demanding answers almost frantically, but she had refused to discuss it.

Then Damon returned from abroad.

Everything changed.

Kendra froze for a moment.

In the past, Conor had called and texted her so often that the constant interruptions had driven her to distraction. She had eventually silenced his notifications.

Now, he had finally learned his lesson. Even with a broken hand, he had gone to the hospital without bothering her.

Yet Kendra suddenly felt an inexplicable surge of anxiety and irritation. She was about to say something when a figure appeared beside them.

Damon threw himself against her. "Kendra, sorry to keep you waiting. Come on, help me. My hand hurts so much."

Kendra immediately turned to examine his injury. "Is it inflamed? Does it hurt? I've already made an appointment with a doctor. We'll get you seen right away."

Just as she was about to take him to the doctor's office, Damon seemed to notice Conor for the first time.

He shrank behind Kendra, his beautiful eyes instantly reddening as he said in a reproachful, almost wounded tone, "Conor, you're here too? You were throwing a tantrum at home earlier and insisted on jumping off the balcony. I tried to pull you back, but I couldn't stop you. I even scraped my fingers trying to save you...

"Are you still angry about the kidnapping? You're being far too selfish. Dad and Kendra had their reasons for not rescuing you. You always let your emotions get the better of you."

Damon sounded deeply concerned, but his eyes gleamed with provocation. He made sure Kendra could hear every word.

Conor's lips merely curled into a small smile, and he said in a flat, indifferent tone, "I'm not feeling well. I'm going to register for an appointment. You two take your time."

In the past, Conor would have exploded with rage. He would have tried desperately to explain himself, his eyes reddening with hurt when Kendra refused to believe him. He might even have grabbed Damon by the throat and demanded that he shut up.

Kendra had always complained that he was noisy, spoiled, and unreasonable.

But now, he no longer made a scene. He simply no longer cared.

His voice had been perfectly calm, yet Kendra felt her heart sink for no apparent reason. She instinctively wanted to follow him, but Damon suddenly caught her hand.

"Kendra, let's go see the doctor too."

Only then did she pull her gaze away from Conor. Looking at the vulnerability in Damon's eyes, she nodded.

Conor registered at the hospital, waited in line, paid the fees, and finally walked into the operating room alone.

He had barely lain down on the operating table when a young nurse rushed in.

"Dr. Bennett, Ms. Sterling needs you upstairs to examine an important patient's wrist. It's urgent. The patient won't stop crying and specifically requested you."

At ten that night, there was only one orthopedic surgeon on duty in the emergency department. If she left, no one else would be available to operate on Conor.

"But..." Dr. Elina Bennett hesitated, clearly troubled.

The nurse hurried over and pulled at her arm. "Please don't hesitate. Ms. Sterling isn't trying to make things difficult for anyone. She's already arranged for two interns to take over. Just go!"

Conor looked at the two interns, who were visibly nervous. His hand hurt too badly for him to care anymore.

"Go ahead, Dr. Bennett."

The surgery lasted two hours. The interns made six mistakes, and Conor broke out in a cold sweat from the pain.

In the end, they barely managed to complete the operation successfully.

Afterward, Conor was admitted to the hospital. He had only just begun to recover from the suffocating pain when his phone rang.

"Conor, your application for the European assignment has been approved!" His colleague sounded delighted. "You'll be traveling to several countries to curate museum exhibitions. Who knows when you'll get another chance to come back? Has Kendra definitely agreed to this?"

Conor's voice remained flat. "I don't need her permission. A month from now, when I leave, will also be the day I finalize my divorce from her."